Such Wicked Toll

Hey all,

Wrote this poem at work last night. Turning back to familiar territory in my poetry. Whenever it gets hard to write poetry I tend to turn to what I feel best, aspects that I can rely on. I do want to make a concentrated effort to write poems about different subjects, but I find inspiration tends to flow from the topics I relate to more. Hope you are okay with reading them still.

This poems was an effort to build on a pattern I used a few months ago in a poem called The Match. Using short three word lines to convey meaning. That poem was about urgency. This poem is more about not having the ability to express yourself fully from what you are feeling. You feel so bad that you can only manage short sentences. Sort of loss by literature's sake. I think it turned out okay. Thanks for reading.


Such Wicked Toll


Agony or apathy,

Remorse turns cold.

The frosty breeze,

Grown so bold.


Harshly blown wild,

Untamed and aware.

Never now mild,

Chilling old cares.


Once blood's passion,

Flushed hotly bright.

'Till meager ration,

O'erwhelmed the fight.


Last salty cry,

And sobbing pout.

Now bled dry,

Love's run out.


Thinking of you,

Taken my joy,

Mistakes to rue,

That we'd destroy.


Hard to endure,

Such wicked toll.

When the cure,

Tore my soul.


Missing you always,

Don't feel complete.

The heart betrays,

As mind defeats.


A life fulfilled,

Just can't last.

Try to build,

Forget the past.


Haunted by thought,

Cold dead love.

All for naught,

Remembrance there of.


Light turns black,

Once burning, fade.

Can't turn back,

Affection so betrayed.



End of Line.
Gerrad!